Confessions of a (Not) Dead Detective
by Medusae Aequorea victoria
Summary: Sherlock begins a journal shortly after the Reichenbach Fall, in which he writes his thoughts and feelings about his relationship with John. He does, as Mycroft says, love to be dramatic. And surprisingly...sentimental.
1. Chapter 1

June 7 - 03:04 am

John, I want you to know that I spoke to Molly at Bart's the night before the fall. I'm telling you this because I want you to be pleased with me for trying to fix things with Molly, if nothing else. I told her everything: about Moriarty, about you and about me. I wanted to tell her, had to tell her, especially about you. If I don't live I have asked her to give you this journal. Leaving you the way I did, with lies, is tearing my heart apart; at least this way you will still learn the truth if I do not return to you. I owe Molly everything now.

She's helping me to save your life which is more important to me than anything. She is saving my life too, although mine is of questionable value. However, I knew it was important to you that I live, so I made the effort.

Having said that, it is entirely possible that you'll want to kill me yourself when you find out what really happened that morning at Bart's. I'm going to look on the bright side of this then: at least now you'll have the opportunity.

Molly had a lot to say to me. I used to think she had nothing of interest to say unless it was about corpses: but I was mistaken. I understand now what she's been trying to make me understand all this time. She was trying to save me from myself, much like you have tried to do. She is compassionate, really compassionate. But you knew that already didn't you? I don't think she's really in love with me (and no, I didn't say that to her face), at least not in love with me the way she thinks she is, but she does care about me, for which I'm grateful. God only knows why she does. It's a mystery to me.

She said it hurt her that I was alone, and even more that I didn't seem to care that I was alone; that I had no expectation of life otherwise, no expectation of love. She was trying to make me care. I see now that me being a dick (as you so flatteringly put it) would only have made her more determined to reform me. She said that it's okay now though, apparently me baring my miserable soul and confessing to an agony of suffering over you is all she needed to feel cheered. As I say, some things are still a mystery to me, but it's a small price to pay for her forgiveness − the least I could do, really.

I have offered her my friendship and I think I can be a good friend to her. Having spent the last five years thinking up ways to put her off, I feel that I know her pretty well. The first thing we need to do is to find her a good boyfriend (I have some thoughts about that, but later).

Love is where you come in, John. I would have had no idea what Molly was talking about before I met you but now I understand exactly what she means about the need to love and be loved. All I need to do is to picture your face and I understand love perfectly (I had no idea that feelings could provide such efficient mental shortcuts. There is no thinking required; the understanding is instantaneous. It's remarkable!)

I'm afraid I will be dead if you are reading this, I mean actually dead this time despite my best efforts to stay alive for you and if that's the case there's something important I want you to know. I'm pretty sure you know it already at least you should know it already; I can't be accused of being subtle about how I feel about you. On the other hand, you do seem pretty thick when it comes to my feelings−and your own, John−chasing all those women, when it's me you love, really, what were you thinking? And don't look like that. That you love me is obvious when all the evidence is considered. And let me tell you that just to be sure, I double-checked my analysis of the relevant facts with Molly and she has agreed with my conclusions. You are in love with me John. You may not know it yet, but you are. Thank God.

I've wanted to tell you how I feel about you for a long time. I would have wished to be there beside you, to watch your expression as I looked into your eyes and said "I love you", to touch your hand and to take your pulse if you would allow me. But since I cannot be I will rely upon my imagination (as you know, I have an excellent imagination, especially, I have discovered, when you are the subject).

The moment I saw you John, I was overwhelmed by love. You can probably imagine the level of disbelief with which I greeted this supposition initially. However, when I did a quick analysis of the evidence of all my senses there was only one possible conclusion: how often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must the truth? Well the truth was the simple fact that I had fallen stunningly, frighteningly, maddeningly in love.

Despite what others think, I have always been perfectly well aware of what love _is_; I just hadn't _experienced_ it and was therefore sceptical. That changed, however, when you limped into the lab and turned your face to mine. The expression in your eyes went through my heart (the heart I didn't know I had until that moment), spearing me with the same effect as that Chinese arrow from the Case of the Blind Banker.

I admit to being momentarily immobilized but once I was able to drag reviving oxygen back into my lungs and re-start my blood flow, suddenly, incredibly, the sole purpose in my life had become to make you happy. That look in your eyes, as though you were trapped in some other terrible world; that you had lost sight of this one was frightening, John. I'm accused of being a cold man, but it froze even me. The next thought, equally extraordinarily, was that I could help you. I knew that I could save you.

I was right wasn't I? You've got to give me that. It took everything I had in me but I did it. I succeeded and you got better. Vexing, coaxing, tempting and provoking you back from the dead is my gift to the world, John. My motive was selfish it's true, given that I wanted to keep you to myself (I must say though, since you've never seemed to mind this very much, I don't let it trouble me).

And I do want to keep you. Now, I never tire of looking into your eyes. Whatever I see there, admiration, pity, perplexity, exasperation, it doesn't matter to me. It's all fine because no matter what, your eyes never fail to pierce my heart and fill my soul with warm, sweet wonder. John. You melt the ice that creeps in the shadows of my dark soul. You melt _me_, John.

Dear God, I wish I could come home to you.


	2. Chapter 2

June 8 - 6:18 am

I can only imagine how bad this has been for you John and I am so very sorry. I have never done it before, but now I pray to the universe every night: I look at the stars, the same ones we saw from under the Arches the night we searched for the Golem, and I ask for a chance to make it up to you. I did not want this to happen, but I know it's my fault that you were almost killed and I know it's my fault that you're suffering now. I will never forgive myself for hurting you the way I have.

I desperately want to come home and make life good for you again. I hate myself for leaving you with lies and betrayal. You gave me your hard-won trust John but I let you down. I swear to you though, that apart from that awful last morning, I have never lied to you, and that morning I did so only to save your life. By then it was too late to save you any other way.

I'm afraid now though, what if I saved you from Moriarty, only to have destroyed you by abandonment? You haven't been recovered for long and what happened that morning could make you ill again. I mean your mind, John. How will you cope with this?

I heard you calling my name, begging me not to leave you, in fact, I can't stop hearing it−the sound of your crying tortures me every waking and dreaming moment. The worst of it is that I know why I can still hear you. It's because you are still calling for me, aren't you John? I hear you crying but I cannot come to you. I almost wish that I had died in the fall; the suffering would be less than what I am enduring now. But I would never leave you by choice, no matter how painful staying might be.

June 10 - 5:15 pm

I know you have gone back to your therapist, but I'm not reassured by this. She's not a very good one. I find myself agreeing with Mycroft, if only on this point.

I'm looking after you the best that I can while I can't be with you. I almost took your gun with me when I left. I'm afraid of what you could do. I didn't, only because you may need it to defend Mrs. Hudson or yourself. But trust me on this, John, one hint from you of the slightest thing suspicious and I will take it away from you. And I promise you, you'll find it exceedingly difficult to get another one.

In case you didn't notice, I also poured all the liquor down the sink before I left. It you can replace, I know, but at least you will have to leave the flat to do it so I'll know when you do. Yes, I'm spying on you, John. Get used to it.

I know the statistics on returning combat soldiers and they aren't good. But I will follow you all day and watch over you all night if that's what it takes to keep you safe. It just so happens I have some spare time on my hands right now. The traps are baited and I'm waiting for the vermin to crawl into them, so don't think I won't stalk you, if I feel I need to (actually, in truth, I stalk you anyway just because I want to see you. I do this even though it makes the weeping wound that is my heart these days hurt more unbearably than ever).

That reminds me, in case you are wondering where it is, while I was at the flat I also took your striped jumper from your laundry. Don't be testy, I've sent you a replacement, a better one (it has an exactly even number of stitches between the stripes, which is a great improvement over this one, I must say). Sentiment, John. I need it; it helps me think, despite the odd number of stitches. I promise I'll bring this one back with me when I come home. And I left you my skull…although in hindsight, probably not a fair trade.

Back to my following you, I know it's base of me to raise the topic, but I thought that my wanting you might lessen while I am away from you. It has not. It would seem that I am experiencing the _full_ range of physical symptoms typically associated with human love−quite forcefully, in fact.

How do you stand it John? Is this why you date all those boring women? If so, there's really no need, I assure you. Perhaps we could discuss it further when I get home.


	3. Chapter 3

June 11 - 11:16 am

I saw you at the cemetery with Mrs. Hudson. That's good. I want you to go back to the flat and stay with her. She will make sure that you eat regular meals and help you to manage; she can be soothing in her own way and she's very fond of you, as I know you are of her. At least you will have each other.

Don't worry about money. The rent's paid on the flat for 18 months, although I hope I am home before that time is up. I put the funds into Mrs. Hudson's account before I left, she won't ask you for rent so hopefully you will forget about it. I know you think I never consider domestic details but you are wrong, of course. I just don't want you to worry about them, that's why I ignore you when you go on about shopping and rent.

I also placed an automatic top−up feature on your bank account. When the balance falls between £419.91 and £323.42 there will be a random amount deposited into your account from mine. Hopefully I'll be back before you figure this out. If you haven't killed me already, you can have another go then. Given your success record with electronic banking though, I'm not too worried.

On that point, I also left £1000 in an evidence bag with your name on it under the leprous foot in the refrigerator. You'll find it when you return the foot to Molly. That will be soon I would think so it will tide you over until you feel you can tackle a chip-and-pin machine again (the note attached says it's your lottery ticket winnings which I collected for you (that's not strictly true, I admit).

I've wanted to tell you for some time that I have more than enough money for both of us, but I know how proud you are John, and I didn't know how to say it. Perhaps I should have explained that I only needed a flat-mate for a month or two while mother's estate was being sorted. I refused to borrow money from Mycroft, but I wanted the flat. That's all. After that, I thought if I told you, you might feel you should leave, so I said nothing.

Anyway, there is no need for you to worry about money. Still, a job might be good for you, boring, but good. Something to do at least until I get back. For God's sake though, not working with Sarah at the surgery. The woman is all wrong for you. And I know you know it. By God, you are a stubborn man.

While we are on the subject, I'll also say that you not working with women at all would be preferable from my point-of-view. I'll continue to press this point with you until you show some sign of absorbing it. But take your time, if you must. The women you bring about the flat have been no trouble; in fact, they are surprisingly quick to take a hint. Unlike you, John.

June 14 - 7:48 pm

Things are going well. I hope now that maybe I can come home sooner than I first thought. I saw you today, you look a bit better. You should have been wearing a heavier coat though. That one is too light for this weather. You need a new one. I'll see what I can find.

I've been thinking. Mycroft has it all wrong. Not surprising since he gets pretty much everything wrong, most all of the time. It's incredible how spectacularly ignorant he is about important things. He certainly couldn't be more wrong about love.

Love is a vicious motivator (yes, well, I may have _known_ it when I said it to the murderous cabbie, but I didn't _understand _it until now). Let me explain: the man in possession of Moriarty's bullet, the one meant for you, John, will find death to be untimely (from his point of view at-any-rate) and very…difficult. The same goes for the killers in possession of the bullets intended for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, of course. Yours first though, definitely. I am highly motivated in this little task that I have set for myself. It will be fun. The most fun I will have had in ages. Don't deny me this John and for heaven's sake don't worry about my eternal soul, either. After all, this was a promise I made to Moriarty at the time of his unfortunate passing. And one should always keep death-bed promises.

Yes, I said Moriarty's unfortunate passing. Unfortunate because I was so dearly looking forward to killing him myself, slowly, but he denied me the pleasure. Selfish to the bitter-end, that was Jim.

Still, it doesn't matter, as long as you are safe. How stupid I was before, thinking that winning a game was more important than people's lives: why didn't you tell me this John? If you'd said something, you might have spared us all this inconvenience. (Oh, don't look like that; it's just a little joke. Come on John, I'm getting better at jokes, admit it.)

I've been thinking. When I get back I have an idea about Molly that I want your help with; it involves Lestrade...er, Greg. I want to make up for the pain I've caused her (and him for that matter). She has appalling taste in men (oh, shut up!), so the sooner we get her settled with somebody decent, the better.

She deserves to be happy and he's a good man, better than me though obviously not as intelligent. I understand that women find him attractive and did you see his face when she took off her coat that evening at our flat last Christmas? I didn't need to take his pulse or gauge the pupils of his eyes to know what was happening to him at that moment.

This could really work, John. Just think of all the things they would have to talk about: injuries, murders, violent deaths. If Lestrade…er Greg's wife hasn't divorced him by the time I get back, she will soon. And that's not me being insensitive, John. Molly is better for him in every way and she won't cheat on him with the P.E. teacher, so it's for the best. Even you can't disagree with that, surely?

Next, what about Mrs. Hudson? I want everyone to be as happy as we will be, John. Her last husband was pretty dreadful though, so it's going to have to be someone exceptional. Preferably someone who doesn't already have two wives, although we may have to think out-of-the box on this one. Keep your eyes peeled.


	4. Chapter 4

June 15 - 8:00 pm

More about money John, if I do actually die everything I have goes to you so you'll be able to buy the flat from Mrs. Hudson if you want it. There're other Holmes properties too that are mine, littered about the countryside, sell them if you don't want them, they mean nothing to me.

Oh, except the cottage in Sussex, please give some thought to keeping that one. I never mentioned it because I thought you might think me presumptuous but I had started to imagine us together there one day. Before I met you I didn't waste a thought on what I would do in my old age, I never expected to make it to old age to be perfectly honest. Lately though, especially when I see how stiff your shoulder is some mornings and how tired you get sometimes, I've thought of leaving London for the place in Sussex. I could keep bees, I've always wanted to, and you could write your memoirs perhaps. If you want to. Anyway, I like to think of you there with or without me, so give it some thought.

You'll get this journal and if you read it, I hope that after some time, you will be able to forgive me for my mistakes and know that I loved you with every cell of my new-found heart; the heart I now value above everything else that I have in life. It is causing me untold pain these days but please know that it's still by far preferable to the cold vacancy that was in its place before I met you.

June 16 - 8:00 pm

Did Clara call? I sent a message for her to get in touch with you. I think you need another friend and you like her you said. Also, if you see her it will ensure that your parasitic sister stays away from you. Yes, John, your heart is too loyal to allow your mouth to say it, but your sister is a scheming sociopath and not a high-functioning one either. I know of what I speak so please don't try to argue.

I did some research on Clara. She seems alright. Take her out to lunch or something, John. Somewhere public so I can see you. You are losing weight, about 3.72 pounds so far by my estimation, so I suggest Angelo's. If it makes you feel sad to go there, then another pasta place.

I don't want you to lose your beautiful form. I love the symmetry and balance of your body, your great strength (which I was made aware of on the occasion of you choking me) and your serenity (except when you are choking me). There is an economy of movement about you that fascinates me. No energy is wasted; you are as still and quiet as a cat before it springs to its kill. You are amazing, John. But you need to eat more.

I'm aware I'm drivelling on, boring you with drooling (if heartfelt) sentiments, mostly because I'm avoiding saying good-bye to you even for a short time. I have to leave London tonight just for a few days. I'll be out of touch until I return, but I've left everyone and everything necessary in place to ensure your safety while I'm away. Leaving now will bring me home to you more quickly later.

You are my heart.

June 23 - 11:26

You are marrying Clara!? I go away for one week and this is what you do behind my back?! How could you do this to me?! Have you gone completely mad?! What the _hell_ are you thinking? Clearly you are not thinking at all! I knew you were an idiot John, but I NEVER imagined you'd do something this stupid! For God's sake, why this!? Why, why?! You know I love you and I thought you…No! John, I _know_ you love me. Dear God, please make this not true!

If I didn't know it would cause your death, I would come over to the flat right now and beat this idea out of you! I would break every bone in your body, twice, taking glorious pleasure in hearing the snapping and splitting of you limbs as I did it. Then I'd hold your broken body to my chest, cry with you, and swear to you that I will never leave you again. Please John, I'm begging you, don't do this! I'm dying here. You must know I can't live without you. You do know that, don't you?

You doubt me? You doubt my feelings?! That's fine then, fine! I don't care! I never did! Forget it! Forget all of it! Live a miserable life with this woman, if that's what you want! I will leave again this moment and I will never, ever come back! Damn you to hell, John!

June 24 - 6:10 am

I'm back. The shadows in my soul might have grown darker and longer last night, but as long as there's any light at all left for me to see my way back to you John, I will come. In fact, in the pitch blackness, expect me on bleeding hands and knees, crawling home to you, so I can beg for your forgiveness.

I've given my outburst some thought, a lot of thought. I conclude that perhaps I may have over-reacted a bit yesterday. I'm sorry, John. I can only assume that what I was experiencing was jealousy (if so, I don't like it).

I'm new at loving so please be patient with me. I'm sure I'll improve over time, really. And by-the-way, I'm well aware that you could kill me eleven different ways with just your little finger whenever the mood struck you, so your bones were never in any danger from me. And it goes without saying that there's no chance of you ever finding yourself in hell (unless you decide voluntarily to join me there)− I have no credibility what-so-ever with the deity responsible for placements in the after-life, so I calculate the risk to you of my curses to be nil.

Still, it was extremely rude of me to threaten you John, so once again, I am sorry. I will be careful not to do it again. You aren't stupid either. I think you are the wisest human that has ever lived, certainly a lot wiser than me. I do still quite desperately want to hold you to my chest and swear to never leave you again; I won't apologize for saying…er, shouting that. The crying is optional though, join me if you like.

My conclusion? It's best that you do whatever you feel you need to do John, to keep going while I'm not with you. I don't know why you are doing this and I intend to find out, but in the meantime, go ahead with my blessing. I will not interfere, for now. However, just a quick message for Clara; she shouldn't get used to having you around because you won't be with her for long. I do know what's best for you John, and it's me.

June 25 - 8:00 pm

I've done the research and it seems I made a complete ass of myself the day-before-yesterday. Again. What you are doing for Clara is good, John, very good and I am utterly humbled by the quality of your character. Again. If it were possible, I'd love you more than I do already. Since it isn't, just know that if I am ever, even one-quarter as good a man as you are; I'll consider myself a success.

Dear God, how I miss you.

10:16 pm

Are you still listening, John?

There is something else I want to tell you. My anger the other night? Jealousy yes, but it was grief too. John, it was supposed to be me. I have a ring for you. I've been keeping it, waiting for the moment when I felt you might accept it from me. I was never sure your answer would be yes and too afraid to ask otherwise. I regret that now. Now that I realize the offering is more important than the taking.

And I do want to offer you everything. Everything that I have, everything that I am, and all that you need. Forever.

For now, I will continue to wait. I will keep your ring on my finger where it will stay until I can place it onto yours and press both to my heart.

I love you, John.

June 26 - 10:51

John, for the first time, I feel tired. I'm not bored; I'm tired and feel so alone. Is this despair? If so, I don't like it. I need you John. Where are you? Please come.


	5. Chapter 5

June 27 - 8:09 am

I couldn't stand to be away from you any longer, John. I came back to the flat last night. I knew you couldn't come to me so I came to you. You weren't to know I was there; I needed just to be near you for a moment. But when I got there your room was empty. I thought that you had gone to Sarah's or even Clara's. God, I hate it when you leave me, my heart stops, I can't breathe and that old loneliness begins to choke me.

So I searched for you and where did I find you? Asleep in my bed, not Clara's or Sarah's but mine! Were you waiting for me John? At the sight of you there my breathing and heart stopped all over again but this time not from loneliness. Magic. I could _feel_ it John. The air was smooth and warm with your scent, like silk and water, I know it's just pharmacy aftershave and laundry powder, I can name all the compounds, but on you it's like golden amber, more precious to me than anything else on this earth.

So I stood there, watching you and listening to your breath. I tried to leave but the pain in your face hurt me just the way it did in the early days when you first came to me. I couldn't ignore it back then nor could I ignore it last night. It was a risk but I wanted to comfort you. I had to touch you, to smooth your cheek, and then worse, I touched your mouth. God, I didn't mean to, I only wanted to feel your breath, to reassure myself that you were okay, but I could have more easily stopped the tide rising in the Thames than stop myself from what I did next, stroking your mouth with mine.

My first real kiss, John and I stole it from you. Others have offered kisses freely, but I have only ever wanted yours. So I stole it. Perhaps the reformation of my character is not quite complete after all.

I saw the sleeping pills in the bathroom, I knew you wouldn't wake. You moved though John, under my mouth. Do you remember it now? Like a breeze rustling the first leaves in spring. I did not mistake it even if it left as suddenly as it came. It took the grief from your face and calmed your breathing.

No mild breeze for me, it was a gust of wind fierce enough to drive the despair out of my heart and allow hope to rush in. Hope for us, John, because it told me for certain that you still love me and need me.

But you look exhausted, even in sleep. For God's sake John, now I have to worry about you taking sleeping pills? You are a doctor, you should know better. And your left palm, why did you bandage it? And I can see you bandaged it yourself. What is the injury? I will find out.

You need more of my kisses, John, that's obvious. And God knows there are more for you where the first one came from, I have an infinite number and variety of kisses to give you, when and wherever you want them. But although I desperately want to, I cannot return home to offer them to you yet. I hope though, that now at least you can dream of me each night until I am home and that dreaming will ease your pain.

I stayed beside you as long as I could safely. You slept more easily with me there. I wanted to touch you again, acutely, now that I have learned I can give you pleasure, but I did not. I want to be worthy of your trust, John. I only want to care for you, never to harm you.

So I stayed still, watching you and thinking about fairy tales: Grimm's Fairy Tales to be exact, useful when knowledge of Germanic folklore is required, as it may be for the occasional case. My mind went in a more personal direction though. I mused about Moriarty and how he favoured a candy and biscuit theme, you know, Hansel and Gretel and the Gingerbread Man. Nasty really, I've never cared for sweets. After much consideration, I decided that Sleeping Beauty is more my preference. I briefly considered Snow White, the tale does feature an evil witch and an apple, as does ours, but the seven dwarves are entirely too much like your girlfriends, John, except likely much more difficult to get rid of. Me as a prince does strain the imagination, I admit, but you sleeping peacefully in my bed is definitely the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen. So Sleeping Beauty it is.

When I finally left the flat this time, for once, I took nothing. Just the feel of your mouth against mine. I now know that I need nothing else in life.

I hope you will always sleep in my bed, John. I am in wonderment that a man like you could love a man like me, even a little. I will never fail you again.


	6. Chapter 6

June 29 - 12:37 am

John, this is difficult for me to talk about, but I have to. Talk about Moriarty and the fall. I'm ashamed of it but I want you to know that I understand now what I did not before.

I made a mistake, more than one, in fact many mistakes. I was arrogant. With Moriarty, you were right of course, it was about me, not about criminal boredom, not about fun or games. The fun and games were just a trick. He knew a game would be the bait I'd throw myself at and throw myself at it I did; always the lure of games for boyish Sherlock.

I know you tried to warn me John, but I wouldn't listen. I have never understood lust, that grotesque twin of love. Lust is why he took the risk and slithered into the light. He hoped I could save him from loneliness or at least save him from dying alone: he was repulsive in the end John; equal parts desperate and pathetic but of course none-the-less deadly for it.

When he first appeared I didn't understand it was me he wanted or why. Even when he whispered "sexy" in my ear and "we were made for each other, Sherlock", "just you and me Sherlock," I still did not understand. What a fool I was! I was a virgin indeed.

I could have learned the lesson from Irene Adler if I hadn't been so blinded by what I thought was my brilliant victory over her. I wish I had. Loss to Irene would have been far less damaging than this loss to Moriarty.

So you watched me. How excited I was with the prospect of winning Moriarty's game, how eagerly I danced, wanting admiration and praise; desperate for a caress! You must have been sick at the sight of it! I'm so sorry, John.

Off I danced, just like that virgin, down the moonlit path to the summer-house with a filthy lecher. By the time his stinking breath was in my face, it was too late; he had the threat of your harm to coerce and silence me.

That moment at the pool when I finally started to understand what he wanted, I would have let him have me, John, for your sake. I would willingly have endured any degradation to save you from harm. Why did you try to stop him, John? Why didn't you let me go? If you had, you would have been spared this inferno of jealous vengeance that he's unleashed. Why do I matter so much to you John? Why?

Love, John, he hates love. When he saw it and felt it that night, yours and mine, I could almost see his skin burn and his eyes turn black before he crawled into the drain from where he came. I knew then he would not stop until he had destroyed it or died trying. I was afraid, not for me, but for you, John, and sad, grief-stricken that my mistakes could cause us to lose each other.

I did try to stop him, I did not give up but I couldn't learn fast enough about the things I've never understood. It's taken a long time but I understand now that loneliness is like death. I know it now, but I would not accept it before, "All that matters to me is the work", I said. I clung stubbornly to that untruth long past the time all evidence for it was gone. "Without the work, my brain rots". Okay genius, but what about the heart? Hearts rot too.

That was the final problem wasn't it? To grasp or not the outstretched hand of a madman on his way to hell because he's afraid to go alone? The answer's yes if by playing games you've squandered all the opportunities you had to send him there on his own.

So now here we are, broken and separated; you not knowing why I left you and me knowing I am the cause of your suffering. Perhaps this means he succeeded after all.

I pray not. Where there is love there is hope and our love survives. The anguish in my heart and the grief on your face are proof of it. And if you grow weak from the injuries, I have enough love for both of us. I will nurture you back to strength again. I have done it once and I am prepared to do it again as many times as you need me to.

I left you as a foolish boy, John, but I will return a chastened man, if you will still have me. The better for my time spent in hell in the company of Moriarty. Now more worthy of you.


	7. Chapter 7

Irene Adler

First, let me make this clear to you John: I have never felt, or will ever feel anything resembling love or sexual attraction for Ms. Irene Adler; not the faintest stirrings of anything remotely similar to either of those two conditions (and I am intimately acquainted with both, John, since you came into my life). I know for some kindly, but woefully misguided reason you believe otherwise, but you could not be more wrong (Good God, John, never mind that I love you to distraction and am completely incapable of noticing anyone else − at the very least, you know I'm a fastidious man and Irene Adler was a career sex trade worker. What on earth were you thinking? The mind boggles, it really does).

So let's reason this out shall we? Allow me to ease your mind of the concern that I am secretly pining for the…er, love of Irene Adler.

Irene was placed in my path by my malicious and meddling brother for some selfish reason of his own; most likely that of undermining our relationship, John, of which he has disapproved since the moment we met. For once and for all John, I'm telling you that Mycroft is a malevolent, scheming man who has tried to mould and control me for his own ends since the day I was born. For the most part, until now, he's been more of an annoyance than anything else but so-help-me-God, if he ever does anything again to try to come between us, it will be the last thing he does−British government, Secret Service and CIA be damned!

But back to Ms. Adler. Mycroft calculated that if anyone could seduce me away from you (whether I was a consenting party or not, apparently), it would be Irene Adler. So he set it up; the trip to the palace, the lurid pictures, the sado/masochistic titillation (which, in case you are concerned, is not to my taste at all, it's much more consistent with Mycroft's sexual proclivities than mine).

I can only assume that he has a very low opinion of my intelligence if he thought I'd be fooled by the story of compromising photos and blackmail but I do like to mess with his head and I wanted to know what he was up to, so I went along with it.

The case was far more interesting than it first appeared, with more possibly going on than even Mycroft knew in the beginning. Irene Adler appeared to be an extremely intelligent woman for one thing, and initially she seemed a worthy intellectual opponent. But as has been all too frequent lately, I misjudged the human factor. It became quite obvious, quite quickly that her intelligence was of the feral kind; based in instinct, not reason. There's a difference between wiliness (that street-smart, fear-based instinct for survival) and intelligence (rational, pure logic based on the correct organisation of facts). Disappointingly, Irene Adler's intelligence was of the former type. In short, she was not a worthy opponent, in fact, quite the opposite; someone in need of assistance more than anything else.

With my usual conceit and in hindsight I can see, condescension, I took it upon myself to rescue her. Not really my duty, I suppose, but I knew my brother would not think twice about throwing the fox to the wolves once he had obtained what he wanted from her. Maybe I was expecting gratitude or hoping for admiration, probably I was. But a cornered fox will always bite a helping hand and in doing so can draw as much blood as the wolf. And that, as you saw, is what she did to me.

My visit to the morgue on Christmas Eve to identify her body was characterized by a sense of failure not sadness, John. I know you and Mycroft expected grief from me (met with compassion on your part and satisfaction on his) but I didn't feel it. At most, I felt pity for her and of course guilt since I had convinced myself that I could, and should, save her.

I did not (in my usual over-confident fashion) expect her to con' me quite as thoroughly as she almost did. I knew early on that she had no actual affection for me; she may have thought so, but lust is a very different game from love, as I learned from Moriarty, so that revelation was no trouble for me (in fact, it was a relief). But as I say, in my conceited manner I expected gratitude and admiration. What an excellent lesson receiving neither was.

Now, let's talk about you and Irene Adler, John. I should be extremely annoyed with you, but since I find being angry with you impossible to sustain for any length of time, a mild lecture will have to suffice. You had no business trying to push her on me and you had no business discussing my feelings with her (or Mycroft for that matter) when you were so completely wrong about how I feel. In fact, you have no business interfering with the workings of my heart at all. Well, okay, I suppose you do, since you are my heart, but certainly not in that manner (and just as an aside John, I fail completely to see why you think every woman you meet, including one such as Irene Adler, is a potential object of romantic or sexual attention, either for me or for you.)

I heard everything you said to Irene at the factory and although I recognize that you thought you were doing me a kindness, at the time, it felt more like a betrayal, John. How can you not know that it's you I love and you I want? Even Irene knew it for God's sake! It hurt to hear you say you had no idea of what's in my heart. I asked myself for the 100th time, how could you not know how I feel about you? It's clear on my face every waking moment and likely every sleeping one as well. The people around us see it, but not you. That day I despaired that you would ever love me the way I want you to. That was the cause of my unhappiness John, not Irene Adler!


End file.
